Operation Deduce and Seduce
by ILoveNeil
Summary: Sherlock tricks John into getting drunk, hoping it will lower his inhibitions and allow him to express the feelings he's been hiding.


"Take my hand."

"Excuse me?" John asked, sipping from his pint glass. It wasn't often he had the chance to drink on a case, but Sherlock insisted on buying. As grateful as he was for the offer, John knew he had to monitor his intake around Sherlock. The last time they got pissed together, back when Mary was still alive, he had some questionable thoughts. Most of that night was foggy, but touching Sherlock's leg? That, he could remember.

That, he wished he could forget.

"A beer in one hand and mine in the other," Sherlock said. The club's music blasted, so he had to lean in for his friend to hear. "It's the simplest way for us to gain access to Moran's hotel room."

John cleared his throat. "And why is that?"

"Look around you. What do you see?"

"A lot of singles. Some couples. More than a few drunks."

"Witnesses."

"So you, you _want_ people to see us snogging?"

"How many times do I have to lecture you on the beauty of hiding in plain sight?" He waved over the bartender, ordered another pint. "There are hundreds of potential witnesses, making it impossible for us to sneak into the room without getting caught. However, they'll say nothing about two drunk arseholes trying to sneak into a room for a quick shag. They'll look right past us."

"No. Nuh-uh. You haven't gotten me nearly drunk enough for _that_." John felt his hands tremble, so he grabbed the freshly filled glass to keep steady.

"Of course, of course, because people would talk," he sneered, before lowering his voice. "It won't hit the papers. If photos are taken, I'll get Mycroft to pay our paparazzi off. No one will ever know."

"Fine," John said. The words were spoken through his teeth, like a dummy in a ventriloquist's act, speaking against his will. _Gottle o' gear. Gottle o' gear._ He tried to push the phrase out of his mind, because it triggered memories of Moriarty. Memories of standing poolside, attempting to protect his best friend. Friend? Was that even the right word anymore?

Sherlock smiled, surprised that his convincing was already complete. However, he quickly composed himself and threw John a wink. He even clapped his hands and said, "Action."

A warm hand wrapped around John's, then pulled him up and away from the bar. A short staircase led to the hallway that contained Moran's room, so they stumbled up the steps together. Although their fingers were intertwined, John kept his distance.

"This won't due," Sherlock said, releasing John's hand and wrapping an arm around his waist. "Don't make that face. When I taught you the proper way to dance, we were just as close in proximity."

John stiffened his back, resisting the touch.

"Are you terrified of affection from another male or is this how you generally behave on dates? It's no wonder you can't keep a decent woman around."

John raised his eyebrows, just drunk enough to take his mate's challenge. Why bother arguing? The great Sherlock Holmes always got his way. "Okay. Fine. You want affection? How's this for affection?"

John twisted so that the two were face to face. He reached one arm around Sherlock to rest it on his bum. The other moved upwards, invading his hair.

"John, what are you doing?"

"I'm contributing to your little play," he said softly, playing with the curls. "Helping you solve this case."

Sherlock's pupils dilated, his skin reddened, his trousers tightened. His entire body reacted to John's touch, and he couldn't help but lick his lips. For once, he had nothing to say.

Of course, John refused to believe that the look was real: that look of complete and utter love. Sherlock had convinced Janine that he wanted to marry her. A great actor, he was. His reaction wasn't real. Just an act. A damn good act.

John glanced over his friend's shoulder to see a hoard of passersby. Some walked right by, while others stared. Two held out their mobile phone. "Well, we have an audience. Like you wanted."

Sherlock blinked.

"If you just stand there, people will think something's wrong," John said, moving in closer with every word.

Another blink.

This again? John hadn't seen Sherlock so tense since he asked him to be his best man. After clearing his throat, he inched toward Sherlock's neck and pressed his lips against the hot skin.

That did it. Sherlock jumped right back into his act, moaning from the touch. He put his hand on John's chest, stroking at first, and then grabbing the fabric in his fist. Between sighs of pleasure, he murmured something John couldn't quite hear, but it sounded like: "Finally."

"Let's move this to the bedroom, shall we?" the blond asked, kissing across Sherlock's jawline as they shuffled down the hall.

When they made it to Moran's door, Sherlock dug out the card key he swiped earlier from God knows whom. The lock popped right open, and the two stumbled into the empty room.

"Oh the things I am going to do to you..." John said as the door fell closed. Once it shut completely, he stepped away, creating distance.

"I've waited ages to hear that."

"Uh, the door's closed now. No one can hear us. I'd say it's safe to cut the act."

Sherlock tensed again. "Was it an act?"

A nervous laugh escaped his friend's throat. "Was it a...?" He coughed. "So what exactly are we looking for? You haven't told me much about this Moran fellow."

Sherlock adjusted his collar, avoiding eye contact. "I miscalculated. Back to Baker Street."

"You want to leave? We just got here."

The brunette plucked a cigarette out of his coat, then walked toward the door.

"Wait. You're not even going to have a look around? If this is Moran's room-"

"Not Moran's room. It's your room. Borrowed your credit card. Hope you don't mind."

John lurched forward, grabbed Sherlock by the sleeve. "What the bloody hell are you going on about? What kind of trick was it this time?"

"I thought you and I had similar desires, but I seem to have miscalculated. Human error: it happens to the best of us."

No emotion stained his voice. No tears hung in his eyes. Was he being serious?

"Are you saying...? So was this...?" John shook his head, trying to clear it. "Sherlock Holmes, were you trying to seduce me?"

"Nope," he said, popping his lips. "_Were_ suggests past tense. I can deduce how you feel, even though you don't realize you feel it yet. My operation to 'seduce you' will be ongoing."

Sherlock lit up his cigarette and disappeared out the door, leaving John in a haze of smoky confusion.


End file.
